


In which sometimes things turn out blissfully happy, in which sometimes they turn out needlessly tragic, and in which sometimes things just are what they are.

by AnnaAalora



Category: Another World | Out of this World (Video Game)
Genre: Different outcomes, Established Relationship, Happy Ending, I swear one day I will get away from the POV Second Person, M/M, POV Second Person, Unhappy Ending, different timelines
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-21
Updated: 2017-12-10
Packaged: 2018-10-22 05:32:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10690764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnaAalora/pseuds/AnnaAalora
Summary: An exploration of different scenarios in divergent timelines.Separate from Life in Another World series.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Some of the different ideas I've had bouncing around my head.

You love him still, even as necessity demands you constantly be apart, both needed to fill different roles in the dire circumstances of war of which you only have a vague idea of the purpose of, but don’t question the necessity of because he is leading the charge.

You love him still, even as you find little ways to show your tenderness and support to him in those early but exhausting days, him absorbing your gestures, but too exhausted and preoccupied to reciprocate.

You love him still, even as the literal and figurative mantle of protection he provided you against this new world falls by the wayside, and leaves you vulnerable to the sometimes subtle and sometimes outright enmity to those who think you have no place here.

You love him still, even as you pour all your skill and efforts into his and their cause, without an ounce of recognition, vision blurred and finger raw from building, engineering, creating.

You love him still, even as you give from reserves that have long been exhausted, with bruises surrounding your eyes and wrists thinner than they used to be, and you desperately want him to notice, care, help, and he doesn’t.

You love him still, even as your mind stutters to an agonizing halt, not long after your body ceases to comply with your demands.

You love him still, even when the day comes that the chain reaction of dissatisfaction at your lack of output drives him to you with the first expression of anger he has ever directed towards you.

You love him still, even in that moment, when he looks at you for the first time in a long while, really looks at you, and his reprimanding words wither away, as does his expression into something horrified and terrible, and you, the frog in the boiling pot of water, wonder what he sees.

You love him still, even as he ~~abandons~~ deposits you in the care of those who flit in and out of the sterile room to observe you with equal parts pity and guilty discomfort, and him sparing you one two three glances as he walks out the door that leave clear impressions in the air of culpability that blew in with him, but not out.

You love him still, even when he is not there to stop these blurred strangers from prodding and injecting you with things that make you feel numb agony and anguished nothing.

You love him still, even when one day you turn your head, your tired mouth fighting for breathe, and there he finally is, desperately holding your hands, stroking your skin, trying to infuse some life back into your spent body and soul.

You love him still, even as he speaks in a distraught tone to those others that flit in and out of the sterile room, their helpless gestures and his gaze incessantly flickering back and forth, and you think ‘why now?’, ’ and ‘do you not want to lose me or what I can do?’

You love him still, even when his and their efforts only prolong your pain and the inevitable, when they can try whatever treatments they like on you because you feel nothing, want nothing, react to nothing.

You love him still, even as you haven’t exactly accepted that your time has come, but you were never one to fight what must be and think about whose feet the blame should be laid at, when there is no going back.

You love him still, even when it is too late for his presence and support to make much of a difference, but you are glad of it in these final days when the bland lack of pain you are feeling frightens you a bit, and he has to pick up your cold hand to press it because you can’t do it yourself.

You love him still, somehow, in the middle of the night, when his head is pillowed in your lap, and you blink long and slow, reopening your eyes to look down dispassionately on the two figures, to a scene that you no longer have a place in or right to impose on, and somehow, you still love him as you again feel the pull again to somewhere else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this case, we have Lester and Buddy, with a deeply loving, but newly established relationship, when wartime hits hard after a short peaceful period in which the village is rebuilt and the survivors return.
> 
> Buddy, with so much else that others are depending on him for, puts too much trust in Lester's calm and self-sufficient disposition to see when Lester starts horribly faltering due to the demands placed in him. 
> 
> Lester, who is in a unique position to offer and apply knowledge that could give his side an edge in winning the war, feels he cannot slow down once he has begun, feels his needs are trivial in the big picture of things after Buddy has already done so much for him.


	2. Chapter 2

You let him push you up against the wall in the little alleyway. You feel his hot breath over your lips for a second as he slants his face over yours and starts to gradually work your mouth open.

His mouth doesn’t fit right against yours, but that only makes every kiss more erotic than the last.

He changes his grip on you and tilts your head for better access, giving you a quick chance to snatch a breath. Breathing heavy, he pushes you a bit higher up and brings up your legs to wrap against his waist. 

You oblige, and he gives a rumble of satisfaction you can both hear and feel. He nuzzles your cheek for a second before returning to your mouth with an eagerness that sends quivers up your spine. 

A few kisses later, he slips the tip of his tongue into your mouth a few times, and then eases off as if awaiting your reaction. You tentatively return the favor, and are instantly rewarded with a couple of lavish kisses that suck the air right out of your lungs. 

The feeling makes your toes curl, but the moment it become too wonderfully unbearable he breaks always work at your neck instead. You tilt your neck to give him better access, and immediately have to stop yourself from involuntarily raking your fingernails down his back. 

He clearly has some sort of otherworldly intuition about your body, because within a few seconds he finds a spot under your left ear that has you crying out and arching into him, scrambling for purchase against the rough fabric of his clothes. 

The sound you make causes him to pull back to look at you, dark eyes scouring your face for something you can’t name. Then, just as you start to shift a bit, he pulls your legs up a bit higher, buries his face in your neck, and starts grinding against you with an absolute insistence. 

If his actions before were able to create an audible reaction from you, he is now being treated to a symphony of sounds each time his hips move against yours. But even that doesn’t last; before long all you can do is let out the occasional breathy moan as he decides to latch onto your neck again and his movement grow frantic. 

The waves of pleasure reach a peak, and you are loudly moaning and desperately gripping him around the neck as he continues to rut against you. 

You bury your face into his neck when he finally lets out a sound somewhere between a groan and a growl and his movements gradually ease off. He pants against you, still pressing you to the wall. 

When he pushes himself away form the wall, you come with him. Your limbs feel like they are locked in place around his body, and he has to help ease you down onto the ground. You are shaky but manage to keep steady when he puts an arm around you. 

Once you are on the ground, he squeezes your arm to get your attention. When you turn to look up at him, he leans down over you and stays there, waiting. You raise yourself up on your toes to meet him halfway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that escalated quickly as I was writing it. Enjoy!


	3. Chapter 3

The dreams will never really subside, although to the end of your days you believe they will, if only given more time. 

This certainty regenerates with a desperate vengeance, as you pull yourself awake at night with your own sobbing and repressed regret. 

Your partner always stirs, always, and slides arms and fabric around you in a practiced and worn gesture of comfort, tired bewilderment hovering right at the edge of tenderness. 

‘Sleep’ he says, finding your words for you, ‘sleep’. 

‘Sleep’ you murmur, any speech now foreign in your mouth, whether it is your language or his. 

When he draws you in closer, and your head is cradled on his shoulder, his scent all around you, you think, almost panicking, doesn’t this make it all worth it? 

If you can comfort yourself with this, this thing that is good and tangible and yours, your partner takes your peace as his and drift back to sleep. 

But if it is not enough, if you remain stiff in his arms for too long, he will press you into him even more and gently love you until you are soft and yielding, and can think of nothing but his hands, mouth and the way he moves in and over you.

In this way all your thoughts are occupied for a long while, through to the afterglow when both of you are warm and satiated and sleepy again, and you can bat away the always unwanted introspection with aftershocks of pleasure and the feel of flesh. 

And in this way you can push away the recollection of your impetuousness of which was the basis of losing a paramount opportunity those many years ago, to have the chance to once again slide between one world and another, back to the familiar. 

You can't remember, perhaps you are deliberately not remembering, if it was five years, ten years, or a greater measurement of time as defined in the world you will forever reside in. The days seems to slip through your hands in unknown quantities and you don't try keep them in your grasp.

You are here, you think as you look up to the face of your beloved, pensive and hovering in indecision of something that can no longer be decided. Here you will stay. Here is what is home, what is yours now. 

Surely, you would have decided to stay anyway.


End file.
